


A Good Samaritan

by TheRaven



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1558232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRaven/pseuds/TheRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky meets an old woman who does him a kindness while he's living on the streets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Samaritan

He has two outfits, one hoodie, and a pair of boots. He doesn't feel like he owns any of it, because one outfit and the hoodie were stolen, and the other and the boots were given to him. Why he keeps the second outfit he's not sure, except that sometimes, he has to wash the one he stole. He's not particularly worried about cleanliness, but people look at him if he doesn't at least make an effort, and the last thing he wants right now is to be noticed.

An old woman who curses like a sailor but acts like a saint drives past him while he sits under a bridge, stops, and asks him if he wants a cup of coffee and some food. Bucky hasn't spoken in three weeks, so the words are difficult and his voice is a harsh rasp, but he manages to communicate that yes, he would be delighted to have a cup of coffee and a hot meal. She waves him into her beat-up compact and takes him to a diner that, while it wouldn't be considered five-star by any means, is at least clean.

She doesn't ask him why he was sitting under a bridge at ten at night, and she doesn't ask about the metal hand that protrudes from the worn sleeve of the hoodie. She just orders him a burger and fries with his cup of coffee, same as she gets, and tells him that she used to live on the streets, so she does her best to help out when she can now that she's in a better situation. Bucky wants to thank her, but the words don't come, so he just nods and drinks his coffee, which the waitress refills every time it starts getting low.

When he's done eating (the old woman gives him most of her fries), he sits with her for awhile as she talks about her life on the streets. She's done it twice: once when she was a teenager and her parents kicked her out for being a lesbian, and again when she was in her 40s after she lost everything because of medical bills. The second time was easier, she said, because she knew she could survive. She sizes Bucky up and tells him he'll make it, too, if he's smart.

She directs him to a homeless shelter, but before she drops him off, she stops at a convenience store and gets him a pack of razors and a bar of soap. This time, Bucky finds the words to thank her, and she just laughs and tells him he'll look much better without the beard. She also gives him a twenty, which isn't much, she says, but it's enough for some convenience store food for a couple days, or another set of clothes at a thrift shop.

“You're a fuckin' survivor,” she tells him sagely before he gets out of the car. “I know you've been through some shit, don't even pretend like I'm wrong. Now, I may not've lived through what you have, but I know that trauma either makes you strong or makes you fall. You're still here, kid, so I'm betting it's the first one for you.”

“Thank you,” Bucky says again, hefting his bag over his shoulder.

“Let this be the last night you spend under a bridge, okay?” the old woman says. “It's gonna get fuckin' cold soon. I don't want to see your ass frozen to the concrete some morning, you got it?”

“I got it,” Bucky tells her, unable to smile but willing her to understand how much this has meant to him.

“Here.” The old woman writes something on their receipt and passes it to him. “If it gets below freezing and you still can't find a goddamn shelter that'll take you, fuckin' call me. I won't mind having a guest for awhile. Name's Miriam. You remember that, got it?”

“Got it,” Bucky says, and closes the door.

He won't call her, even if he doesn't have somewhere to stay by the time it gets cold. But it's nice to know that someone cares. He puts the receipt in his pocket, sets his bag down on the concrete, and feels somewhat human for the first time in a long, long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This is also being posted to a Tumblr blog of mine, so don't flip out if you see this there. I originally wrote it as a one-shot for the blog, but I'm vain, so I'm posting it here as well.


End file.
